• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“May I inquire after something then?” Layla asked as she straightened.

“Of course, sister.”

“Has he treated you well?”

“The Primale? Yes. He has been very solicitous.”

Layla went over to the bed and picked up one of the prayer books. “I read in his biography that he is a great warrior and that he saved his twin from a horrible fate.”

“He is a great warrior.” Cormia looked down at the rose garden. She imagined that all the Chosen had read his volumes in the Brotherhood’s special section of the library by now—and she wished she had done the same before he’d brought her here.

“Does he speak of that?” Layla prompted.

“Of what?”

“How he rescued his twin, the Brother Zsadist, from an unlawful blood slavery? That is how the Primale lost his leg.”

Cormia’s head whipped around. “Truly? That is how it happened?”

“He has never spoken to you of it?”

“He has not, no. He is a most private individual. At least with me.”

The information was a shock, and she thought of what she had said to him, that he loved the fantasy of Bella. Was that true of herself with the Primale? She knew so little of his history, so little of what had shaped him as the male he was.

Ah, but she knew his soul, didn’t she.

And she loved him for that.

There was a knock at the door. When she called out, Fritz put his head in.

“Pardon me, but the sire is ready for you,” he said to Layla.

Layla’s hands went to her hair and then smoothed over her robe. As Fritz ducked out of the room, Cormia thought that the Chosen was taking special care with her—

Oh . . . no . . .

“You are . . . going to see him? The Primale?”

Layla bowed. “I am to see him now, yes.”

“Not Rhage.”

“I am to serve him afterward.”

Cormia stiffened as ice ran through her. But of course. What had she expected. “You’d better go then.”

Layla’s eyes narrowed, then flared wide. “My sister?”

“Go on. Better not keep the Primale waiting.” She turned away to the window, suddenly ready to scream.

“Cormia . . . ,” her sister whispered. “Cormia, you care for him. Verily, you care for him deeply.”

“I never said that.”

“You don’t have to. It is in your face and your tone. Sister mine, why ever . . . why are you stepping aside?”

As Cormia pictured the Primale with his head between her sister’s thighs, his mouth making Layla arch in pleasure, her stomach rolled. “I wish you very well in your interview. I hope that he chooses well and chooses you.”

“Why are you stepping aside?”

“I was cast aside,” she bit out. “The decision was not mine. Now, please do not keep the Primale waiting. After all, God forbid, we can’t have that.”

Layla paled. “God?”

Cormia waved her hand back and forth. “It’s just an expression they use here, not an indication of my faith. Now, please, go.”

Layla seemed to need a moment to collect herself after the spiritual slip. Then her voice became gentle. “Rest assured he will not pick me. And know that should you ever need a—”

“I won’t.” Cormia turned away and stared out the window with total fixation.

When the door finally clicked shut, she cursed. Then marched across the room and kicked the ever-living crap out of her construction. She ruined every last section, breaking every single neat little box until the order that had been was rubble on the carpet.

When there was nothing else to destroy, her tears christened the mess, as did the blood on the soles of her bare feet.

Chapter Thirty-four

Downtown at screamer’s, Lash was putting one of the private bathrooms to good use.

And not because he was taking a nice long piss.

He was buried to the balls in that blonde from the bar, nailing her from behind as she braced herself against the sink. Her black leather skirt was pushed up to her hips, her black thong shoved over, her black V-neck pulled wide and held that way by her breasts. She had a precious little pink butterfly tattooed on her hip, and a heart on a chain around her throat, and both were getting banged around to the beat of his thrusting.

It